The Heart of the Game
by The Brat Prince
Summary: Marcus x Oliver. Marcus makes a bet with Oliver. However when it looks like Wood is going to win, can he follow through? Chapter 4, the finale, is finally here. Will Marcus give up his heart?
1. Hell

The Heart of the Game

By: The Brat Prince

Disclaimer: I don't own a soul.

            He snuck out of his room at midnight, unable to stay in the small stuffy room any longer with only Percy's obnoxious snoring keeping him company. The fat lady was miffed at his obtrusive exit, whined about her beauty sleep. Oliver told her to shut up or he'd reenact what Sirius Black did to her. She grew indignantly quiet very quickly.

            Oliver sighed and snuck down the dark hall, tip toeing down the stairs, skipping over those that creaked, on the lookout for Filch at every step. He knew his destination without acknowledging it in his mind. He stood at the astronomy tower before he knew how far he'd gone. The view of the Quidditch field was priceless. The extravagant trappings of the bleachers and shining hoops he knew so intimately glistened in the moonlight. 

            A foreign warmth graced his shoulder, "Sneaking out Wood? Whatever would McGonagall think?" His eyes met with orbs of steel and cobalt blue, straying idly over a mouth that bore a toothy grin. 

            "Hello Flint. What brings you out? It's not garbage night yet." The small insults exchanged between the true no longer amused him, yet he played along with enthusiasm. Better than asking for what he really wanted. Better than giving into the enemy.

            Or was it? Oliver would leave the grounds he knew so well this year. He drew his eyes from Marcus's and lead them to the Quidditch field again. It was beautiful. A majestic reminder of glory days long past and never lived. What he had won and lost. Tears and blood had been shed on that field. Marcus and Oliver had competed for seven long, tiring years. Yet he was still standing. He had survived.

            "Very funny Wood. I saw you wandering the stair wells and decided to drop the news," The first raindrops of a new storm started to fall, splattering the glass window panes behind them, "You'll be playing Hufflepuff in this week's game. Draco Malfoy has been unfortunately injured, and we can't afford to play with a disadvantaged seeker, now can we?" Marcus flashed that toothy grin again, seeming to know that it made Oliver unbelievably disgusted, revolted and weak in the knees at the very same time. 

            Oliver's temper started to rise, "What do you mean? Draco Malfoy is just fine. That arm injury is a fraud if I've ever seen one!" 

            "I know that. And you know that. But Draco's father doesn't seem to accept that." Marcus said, unusually quiet, "And Draco Malfoy's father has quite a lot of influence with the parents of our team. Including mine," he hissed, "Believe me Wood, if we could get this damned thing over with, I would in a second."

            Oliver's heart sunk. So Marcus did hate him. He'd always known, but hearing it…Rain-soaked and heavy-hearted, Oliver sunk to his knees, "Tell me, you coward. Tell me why we have to fight? Why we can't just play Quidditch as it's meant to be. A game Marcus. It's a game. Not some competition to prove yourself," he said the words bitterly, not meaning to make sense.

            "Because. You're you. You're Oliver Wood, campus hero. Protector of the weak and pathetic. Because you're weak and pathetic through being you. What do you want me to do, bow at your feet like every one else does? Kiss the ground you walk on? I don't think so," Marcus growled.

            "No. I want you to love me." Oliver said it so quietly that his words were carried off by the wind. Marcus extended a hand.

            "Get up. You're like a dog down there. I can't hear your mumbling."

            Oliver shook his head. Marcus bent down with much show, like the gesture was back-breaking. He bent his head close to the smaller, but taller boy.

            "Wood, act like a man." Oliver loathed those words. He was acting like a man. Except for the fact that he couldn't…he couldn't make Marcus his.

            Marcus laughed his deep throated chuckle when he saw Oliver staring at him, rain running down his face like the tears of the ancient gods. His lips were trembling out a chant he didn't know and couldn't control, the cold setting into his bones. Marcus leaned his face so close that their noses were touching and opened his mouth, the mouth that Oliver was fascinated by and repulsed by.

            Before he could think about what the consequences might be, Oliver brought his hands to Marcus's strong face, pulling his lips to the Slytherin captains. He wanted, needed to feel those lips on his, the salt of his skin in his mouth. 

            Marcus inhaled deeply, not even expecting Oliver's move but taking control of the situation in an instant, pushing the boy to the ground and pressing his lips to his with bruising force, then pulling away when a moan formed in the back of Wood's throat.

            "So that's what you want Wood. Who'd have thought the almighty Oliver Wood wasn't going to end up fucking his broomstick all his life?"

            Oliver sat up indignantly, pale-faced and unsure. What was Marcus going to do? Even after seven years, he couldn't predict Flint's moves. He couldn't control him.

            "It's not stupid hormones Flint. I want-I want you. Not just to fuck. I want to know you."

            "What's to know?" Marcus countered, his face shadowed and slick with rain.

            "More than you think," Oliver replied, "You're just afraid to show me."

            "Afraid?" Marcus scoffed, "How about you and I make a little wager. If you beat Hufflepuff, you can have my body. If you beat Ravenclaw, you can have my company. And if you beat me, you can have my heart. If you beat me Wood, you win the game for a change."

            Oliver didn't even consider it. He always had been a gambling man and as he pondered the prize, he couldn't see that he had anything to lose. Certainly not Marcus's respect. He had never had that.

            "Deal. I'll take that wager. And I'll win."

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(A/N- Please review? Pretty please? Chocolate covered george and fred's to those who review. With little lee sprinkles on top.)


	2. Purgatory

The Heart of the Game

Chapter 2: Purgatory

By: The Brat Prince

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Don't want it. Too much paperwork. Just want to rent the boys for a day.

When he told them they would be playing against Hufflepuff, not Slytherin, they were overjoyed. He wasn't. Oliver didn't want to put his chance of winning the wager on the line. He couldn't afford to lose this early in the game. He went off on them, told them to practice harder, to play better.

            When they played against Hufflepuff, he lead them like a general leading his troops. All his hopes were resting on Harry. And then the dementors came. He could see Flint in the crowd, smirking as Harry plummeted to the ground. 

            He felt his hopes crushed with the bones in Harry's body. Diggory caught the snitch. Diggory won the game. Oliver had already lost. He ignored Fred and George's optimistic tune in the showers, yelling at them irritably instead, "GET OUT! Just…get out." He wanted to cry, to scream, to something.

            The Weasley twins left, but Oliver stayed. He wished Diggory would die a thousand deaths so he could share the pain he felt at that moment. He wished Marcus had never made that stupid bet.

            In the steaming mist that surrounded him, a shape appeared, "Losing so soon? I had expected you to lose against Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff. Kind of a disappointment though. I had been looking for a good fuck. You just took it away from me."

            For a millisecond, Marcus's voice flickered, like he wasn't sure of what he said. And Oliver's mind searched frantically for what the other boy saw that he was missing. Marcus's form was beautiful. Oliver could feel the steaming water rolling down his shoulders and imagined Marcus joining him, their bodies slick…and…then realization stuck him like a thunder bolt.

            "It doesn't count Flint. You said if I lost against Hufflepuff. **I** beat Hufflepuff, it was Harry who lost. I never let them get a goal." Oliver grinned. He had made that up off the top of his head, but technically, that was what Flint had agreed upon.

            "So you didn't." Marcus's eyes lazily roamed his body. If not for the steaming water and the shield of mist between them, Oliver would have blushed. As it was his skin was already a light shade of pink.

            "What was that prize? You get-" Marcus couldn't finish his sentence, as Oliver had pounced on him, and their tongues intertwined in a dance, in a game, as a prelude of the match to win Marcus's heart. 

            When their bodies connected, when Oliver knew that Marcus's body was truly his, when he was inside him, it was like ecstasy. It was a drug he had never known and would never be able to get enough of. 

            Upstairs, in the infirmary, Fred confided in Harry, "Oliver's still in the showers. We think he's trying to drown himself."

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            Hufflepuff lost against Ravenclaw, luckily for Oliver. With his own game against Ravenclaw approaching, his nights became a whirlwind of Marcus's salt and sweat intermingled with his own, his days the life of a dictator, organizing the Gryffindor team to get him what he wanted. What he needed. Yeah, he knew he needed Marcus like he knew he needed the plague. But in the same way, he needed him just as food and water was a necessity. As the days passed, that became very clear.

            The day was nice, not too windy, not too cloudy, no rain in sight. Aside from Harry eyeing that Ravenclaw girl, Cho, it looked like his lucky day. "Now, Wood-" Marcus started lazily, rolling onto his stomach. The crimson bed sheets made his skin look darker than it was.

            "-Oliver. How many times do I have to tell you?" Oliver grinned good naturedly. Marcus was scowling, not much new there. He seemed to hate the way Oliver would fawn over him in bed, the way he'd tease him and act like they were friends and not good fuck-buddies. Oliver didn't give much of a damn.

            "If you win today, I know I said you'd get my company, but-"

            "Hey! No backing out of the deal Marcus. It's as good as set in stone in my mind." Marcus sighed and rolled his eyes.

            "I swear, you're worse than a girl. What I'm saying is, don't expect me to go on any freaking picnics or whatnot with you. By company I meant talking. Civilly." He looked a bit disgusted at the word 'civil'. 

            "Are you capable of that?" Oliver ducked, narrowly avoiding a pillow flying straight at his head, "Ah, Quidditch reflexes." His grin got broader, "Don't you worry. I'll win, no doubt about that. And we'll have a civil talk. You'll tell me all about yourself. Won't you?" Marcus grimaced.

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            Well, that little prat Malfoy had certainly gotten what he deserved. Nice little patronus Harry had tossed at them, fully developed or not. Plus, he'd caught the snitch. Even with that Chang girl batting her eyelashes. Oliver could have kissed him. He ran into the locker rooms and kissed Marcus instead.

            Unfortunately their "civil" talk had been delayed by potions. Gruesome class that was. Hadn't been very easy with Marcus attempting a game of footsie that resulted in lots of broken glass and flobberworms wriggling all over the floor. Definitely not a pretty sight. Snape had been in quite a vindictive mood too.

            Pity he thought that naturally, Percy had done it. With Oliver of course. Like Oliver and Percy could ever have anything going on*. However, just as Oliver thought he was facing a month's worth of detention, Marcus had convinced Snape that the detention would be better served giving Oliver the Quidditch workout from hell. So that the game would be fair of course.

            Snape had given Marcus a funny look until he mentioned something about how his father had been asking how classes were going. Then his eyes clouded over and he shoved them out of the room, leaving him alone with poor Percy. Their footsteps echoed across the dungeons as they ran up the stairs like bats out of hell.

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A/N: R+R would be nice. In desperate need of a beta reader and a proofreader. Don't quite want a copywriter cuz, um, the scary lady at the fanfic thingie today scared me with them. And my stuff isn't quite that professional. But I know there's typos because the keyboard sticks and a few words I just replace, homonyms and such. Plus, I'd like to know how you liked the fic, so review, review!

BTW, for anyone who writes Harry Potter fics, I just started a new site which I will from now on be shamelessly advertising throughout fics, Knockturn Alley. I'd like to put anyone's slash fics up, any couple. Just no NC-17.       http://www.geocities.com/xknockturn_alleyx/

We also take fanart! That can be limey…

~Love and skittles, Moony.


	3. Limbo

 The Heart of the Game

Chapter 3

By: The Brat Prince

A/N: You asked for it, so here it is! Chapter three. Unfortunately, I lied, the story is going to be four chapters now. ^-^ I'm loving the response I'm getting on detention isn't for the fainthearted. Not as much as I got on Firefly- but hey, Digimon fans, *waves hand around dismissively.*  Enjoy the fic.

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            They dashed through the halls like Voldemort was on their tails, through the dungeons, up the stairs, into the Great Hall; ignoring the curious looks of students sitting there studying. They ran up the moving staircases, down the elegant walkway where the fat lady rested, and back up the stairs to the astronomy tower.  The only place in school where everything that happened could be kept a secret.

            Oliver collapsed, laughing and panting so hard that he was crying hysterically, "Oh! Did you see the look on poor Percy's face? I can't believe we left him there with Snape. Poor boy will definitely have a time of it, don't you think?" He glanced at Marcus, who had propped his hands on his knees and was struggling for breath. 

            Marcus grinned, not so much the cruel grin he used to give Oliver as a genuine smile. Nights of passion had softened his heart, or so Oliver hoped. He didn't want Marcus to just be his lover. He wanted him to be his friend, to gain trust in Oliver. Marcus didn't even seem to realize what was happening, that his smile was genuine and his eyes full of sincere laughter. If he had, he probably would have jumped off the astronomy tower right there and then.

            "So," Oliver breathed deeply, walking to Marcus and draping his arms around the shorter boy's neck, "Tell me about you. Everything." 

            Giving him a disgruntled look, Marcus ducked from under his arms and sat at the very edge of the tower, "We did make a deal, didn't we?" He sounded very remorseful. It wasn't that he had thought Oliver wouldn't win, it was more like he had hoped…and yet he knew how disillusioned he had been, to think the perfect silence between the two would last forever.

            "Yes, we did," Oliver raised an eyebrow and sat beside him.

            "What is there to tell, really? I was born, I had two parents, they were both purebloods, from long lines of purebloods, and then when I was ten, Dumbledore sent me that confounded letter to come to Hogwarts. Truthfully, my dad wanted me to go to Durmstrang, but you know, back then…"

            "Tell me about your parents. What were they like?"

            Marcus grimaced, "I'd rather not."

            Oliver gave him a stern look, "We agreed Flint, you tell me." Then he took Marcus's hand. The other boy didn't shove it away.

            "My mom wasn't exactly the virgin Mary. She loved my dad's money, and maybe his body, but definitely not his personality. She slept around with aristocracy, and my dad knew it. He was never the nicest guy in town, and by the point that I was born, he was very into the 'ruling with an iron fist' way of obedience."

            "Did he…hurt you?" Oliver felt anger wash over him in waves.

            "Not in so many words, not at first. I thought it was because he got a tad squeamish at the sight of blood. Don't get me wrong, he was still one of Voldemort's followers and had a taste for the more obscene types of psychological torture, but he wasn't as brutal- physically, as some Death Eaters. Certain Malfoys I could name…" 

Marcus was in another world. Surprisingly, talking about the past was not making him feel better, like most good shrinks would lead a person to believe. It only brought back the pain. 

            Looking into Oliver's warm eyes, Marcus could remember his mother's voice. She had said that it is always best to keep the past a secret, but remember the mistakes made and take care not to repeat them. Before she died that is. 

            "So, what did he do?" Such naive concern from his lover was making Marcus nauseous. A flicker of the 'old him' flashed in Marcus's mind. A spark that wasn't quite dead. He felt the aura of Marcus-the-heartless-bastard haunting him, and for a second, he wished he could become him again. Being a prat always had been his shield from the world.

            "Is that any of your business?" He snapped angrily, "You really want to know? He killed my owl. He killed my mother. My baby sister was found dead in the servants' quarters. He lost it all and secured himself a nice, cozy spot in Azkaban until about three years ago. When the ministry decided to release him because he pleaded the Imperius curse and the tossers sent him back home, without a scratch to make my life a living hell. Is that what you wanted to hear?" 

            Oliver looked crushed when he snatched his hand away. Well Marcus thought, who the hell cared? The boy was living in some fantasy world that would die one of these days anyway.

*************************************

            The game against Slytherin was looming ahead like a dark omen. Even without Marcus in the deal, the Quidditch cup was still something Oliver wanted more than anything. The fact that Marcus's wayward heart was thrown in to the win was an added bonus. 

            However, Marcus had been avoiding him since their talk in the astronomy tower. Not physically in the beginning, but mentally. He had closed up after their initial discussion. Every once in a while he would slip something about his likes or dislikes into their limited conversation, but never anything about his old life. He seemed to much prefer passionate nights to friendly days. Oliver loved Marcus's body, his voice, his everything; coated in sweat and wrapped in silk sheets or clothed in Quidditch robes and maneuvering around the lush green fields like a bolt of lightening on a broom, but he was a bit miffed that the Slytherin captain was going back on the deal. He had promised details, and Oliver wasn't seeing them. It was hard for him to believe in the pain Marcus experienced when talking about his past. Oliver understood it of course, mentally, but in his heart, he couldn't acknowledge the fact that anyone could suffer that much.

            So, one night Marcus had him pushed back against a wall, kissing and biting and licking his neck with relish, hand snaking down Oliver's pants. His moans drowned out  the scandalized paintings in the corridor clucking their tongues in disgust. Finally, Oliver shoved him away. Undisguised rage crossed Marcus's face in a slow, ugly display of emotion, "And what did you do that for?" He growled.

            "You've been avoiding me." Oliver replied, a bit fearfully. The larger, troll-like boy was mad. Unusually angry. The Gryffindor captain didn't want to provoke him anymore than he had to.

            Marcus grabbed his crotch, "Is this avoiding you?" he demanded, "We've been fucking ever single night, how is that avoiding you."

            Oliver gulped, wincing slightly in pain, trying not to show any fear, "You haven't been talking to me about your-" He gasped as Marcus squeezed harder, "family, or your old life. You haven't been telling me what you want to do with your life. You haven't been treating me like a friend. That's going back on our deal."

            A slow, feral grin crossed Marcus's face as he released Oliver, "It doesn't matter Wood," He emphasized Oliver's last name, to show how unfriendly he could be, "You're not going to beat Slytherin. The deal is stupid anyway. Why would you want my heart? Because you're a stupid prick who doesn't have enough ambition in life to be great."

            Oliver reached out to touch the boy's shoulder, "SHOVE OFF!" Marcus screamed, and stalked angrily away. That was the last time Oliver had seen him. It hurt, a lot more than the boy had ever imagined. The dull ache in his heart, the longing throb of his body confused him. It couldn't be calmed or stopped, not even by Quidditch. Oliver knew he had fallen too hard, to fast, for a boy who could never really love him back. The deal was stupid. Why had he ever imagined Marcus would acquiesce?

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A/N: Okay, just wanted to fill the space between the games. ^-^ I like reviews, they're fabulous. Thanks to all reviewers (please keep it up) but I just had to comment on these three!

Rylyn: ^_^ Thankyou. I know this chapter isn't as close to canon as it could be, but I wanted to post. I promise the next one will be great.

Laurenyelle the Silver: I appreciate it very much! And I promise, as soon as I finish my evil physics project, I will post your story on Knockturn Alley.

Nat: Kinky, hunh? I like that.


	4. Heaven At Last

**The Heart of the Game**

_Chapter Four_

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: Okay, so the dilemma here is I have no idea what I originally made the ending to be. I've let this story alone for so long, that I kind of just…forgot it. So um, new ending. Although I think its actually pretty close to the initial concept. Although I'm older and more corrupt and less idealistic- did you ever notice that the young and naive manage to write way better romance scenes than those who've you know, experienced that kind of stuff and gotten all jaded? Shutting up now. Final chapter, enjoy. This is for everyone who reviewed, and yes, I know it's a little late in coming. I love all of you who've stuck with me all this time, and thanks for your support.

* * *

They won. Oliver felt his heart swell with pride. For the first time in weeks, the deal he'd made with Marcus wasn't at the forefront of his mind. They'd won. He'd waited for this moment all his years at Hogwarts. To think that it had finally come, well, it was a moment that had to be savored.

Okay, savored enough. Oliver breathed out. He would have to admire the way the sunlight glinted off the Quidditch Cup later. It annoyed him that after all this time of waiting to win, winning the deal was somehow more important to him. For a while, there had been nothing in his life more important than Quidditch.

Marcus had fled to the locker room the second Slytherin was defeated. The rest of his team was moping on the field. Oliver's heart was hammering its way out of his chest. He wondered if it was really possible, if Marcus would really hand over his heart. He hadn't been doing too well with the whole friendship deal after all. And it wasn't like he could force himself to fall in love. No matter how much Oliver loved him, he could only possess his body. Nobody could ever possess an untamed animal's heart. And that was just what Marcus was; an animal, feral and prowling through the walls of Hogwarts, raging against their restraints. That was what had drawn Oliver to him in the first place.

The locker room was empty. How the fuck had Flint escaped so quickly. Just to double check, Oliver looked in all the shower stalls and even beneath the benches. Which made Fred and George come up with some very creative wisecracks when they came in to find their esteemed captain on his hands and knees with his head under a bench like he was looking for old bits of chewing gum. Oliver just flipped them off and ducked out. He was still sweaty and wearing all his gear, but he would be damned if that rat faced bastard ran out on their agreement. At the very least, he expected Marcus's lips around a very private place as part of a victory extravaganza. And then maybe those three little words he was owed.

No, not 'Fuck you Wood'. Although he wouldn't mind hearing 'Fuck me, Wood'.

Oliver shook his head. His mind was growing filthier with age.

Fancy that, Marcus was at the Astronomy tower. He had a head for heights; most Quidditch player did. Oliver theorized that it made Marcus feel better to be up so high. He knew it made him feel better. Being up in the air, with the wind and the sun and nothing else holding you back was like…freedom. Complete and total freedom.

"You ditched the celebrations."

"I didn't feel like celebrating," Marcus retorted, "Your lot cheated."

"Cheated? What on earth are you talking about?" Oliver demanded. He was about to continued, but Marcus turned towards him with a grim smile.

"I was joking," he informed the boy, the smile twisting into a callous smirk.

"Oh. Right then. I believe you have to complete our transaction."

Marcus glanced down. The grounds unfolded below them, a scenic view of too green grass and sky scraping trees. Students raced around like ants below their feet. Being so high up was like being a god. For a second Oliver imagined he could control all that hustle and bustle below him. He could throw lightning down when he was displeased, or make the sun grow hotter to burn that picture perfect grass to a crisp. And those people down there, his classmates, their problems would just cease to matter. He reclined his face against the sunlight, already grown dim. It was better that he wasn't a god. He would be spiteful and vindictive if he had that much power, solely because that's what power did. It made you grow lazy and bored with things you were supposed to enjoy.

"I'm backing out of our deal."

The words were so quiet that Oliver thought he'd imagined them. He'd imagined those words over and over again, and hoped never to hear them. After all, he had no way to convince Marcus that it was wrong, that they were meant to be, that Oliver needed him. Oliver needed him the way he needed air, and the possibility that Marcus would leave, that he would disappear, was choking him.

"You can't!"

"I can, and I am, and I just did," Marcus snarled. For a second he looked as though the old spark was rising up, and he would pin Oliver to the wall and hopefully hit him or ravish him or touch him. It didn't matter how, as long as Marcus was touching him. Oliver was willing to sustain countless black eyes, and in fact before the agreement had, just so Flint would touch him. It used to be he'd gotten off on the very possibility.

But Marcus warily stayed away, his eyes watching Oliver as though he were some sort of poisonous bug.

"Why?" Oliver whispered, even though he thought he knew the reason. This had been a game for them both, but Oliver's heart was in it. For Marcus, it had just been about triumphing one last time over his oldest school foe.

Marcus surprised him. Stone faced and level voiced, he replied, "I don't know how to love."

"You don't know, or you won't try?" Oliver pleaded. He grabbed the other boy's wrist, and pulled him roughly. Marcus wouldn't have budged except for the shock. He hadn't expected Oliver's sudden onset of aggression. He let himself be pulled in, let his lips be taken in a crushing kiss. He felt Wood's tongue pry his lips apart, felt hands tracing fire across his abdomen. Malleable as clay, Marcus let Oliver kiss him, but he didn't kiss back.

"Try, goddamnit!" Oliver pried his lips away only to scream in his face, and then he was back, greedily devouring Marcus's mouth until the shorter boy had no choice. He didn't like the fact that he wasn't the aggressor, and he turned the tables, yanking Oliver roughly against him, grinding their bodies together until he wasn't completely sure where he stopped and Wood began.

When they separated, both were panting heavily, glaring at each other with hate and something more.

"Explain," Oliver demanded.

Marcus Flint didn't like being told what to do. But he had honor, which is more than he could say for his deadbeat criminal dad or his friends who were just waiting for their first stint in Azkaban. He knew Wood was beyond that. He knew Wood was going to graduate with all the academic achievement awards and the Quidditch cup which had been the one thing that Marcus had fought for. Quidditch was the one thing Marcus was good at.

His pride and his honor fought, and for the first time in his life, Marcus set aside his stubborn pride and decided to tell the truth. If anything else, he owed that to Oliver. He felt a fine tremor in his hands as he began to speak.

"I don't want to love anyone," Marcus said, his steely eyes showing nothing, but the quiver in his voice betrayed all his fear. Fear. Was that a thing Marcus Flint had? Oliver had always thought him fearless. Somehow this rare display only made him love the boy all the more.

Oliver brushed a finger against the other boy's cheek, which only made him flinch. Oliver winced. He'd never seen Marcus like this. Marcus usually was the one who charged into things body and soul, and never backed down. Even now, he looked fierce, like he'd decided this once to put his all into making Oliver understand.

"Why not?"

"You destroy the things you love. That's what my father taught me," Marcus thought of his mother, of his baby sister, and of all the pets he'd had that he'd seen die in front of his face. He thought of the way his father had screamed when he found out that Marcus was moving out after graduation, and belittled his ideas of bettering himself. Because Marcus would better himself. Slytherins were nothing if not ambitious.

"You can't destroy me."

Marcus's eyes flicked to Oliver. So naïve, "I could break you with a single word."

"Try."

After a moment's silence, Marcus replied, "I don't want to. I like you the way you are."

He missed Oliver's triumphant look, but he heard the catch in the taller boy's throat. Suspiciously, he asked, "What?"

"That's the first time…"

"Man up and speak up, Wood."

"That's the first time you told me you liked me," Oliver breathed, and his eyes were wide as his smile.

"Don't let it go to your head," Marcus grumbled, but he couldn't deny what he'd said.

"If you like me now, then you could love me."

"I don't want to."

"But we had a bet."

"Which I'm backing out of."

"Don't."

"I-"

"Don't," Oliver put his arms around the other boy's waist, "Please."

What Marcus had said held true; he didn't want to break his archnemesis. He wanted him to stay fragile and pure. He wanted Oliver to look the way he did on a broomstick; fierce and joyful and completely at ease. Marcus never would have said so, but he cherished that look. And he wanted to keep having Oliver at his beck and call, on his knees whenever Marcus willed it so.

"What else am I supposed to do? I don't want to love you-" he paused, realizing it wasn't true, "I don't know if I can love you right now. I need…time," the word tasted foul in his mouth. He was turning into one of those soft hearted, weak minded, foolish, reckless Gryffindors. The horror. Next thing you know he'd be helping old ladies across the street and joining pro-muggle alliances.

"I can deal with that," Oliver answered, his nose touching his opponent's in a sweet caress. Marcus fought the nausea and claimed the other boy's lower lip instead, nibbling on it, turning the affection into something he could deal with. He bit down too hard and drew blood, but Oliver just hugged him tighter.

"What do you propose then, Wood?"

"A, that in lieu of the earlier deal, you start calling me Oliver," the look on his face was so stern that Marcus had to choke back a laugh, "And B, that we extend the bet. Live with me. Live with me for an entire year. I'll be playing for Puddlemere. I'm getting my own flat. I know you don't have any other plans. So do it. And by then, if you've decided you won't, can't, and don't love me, then I'll let you go."

Marcus thought long and hard about it, his face twisted up comically.

"Done."

It didn't take a year. Three months later, when Marcus though Oliver was fast asleep after a rousing round of inappropriate acts, their naked bodies pressed together, Marcus pressed his lips to Oliver's forehead and whispered, "I love you Wood."

Oliver's muffled laugh rose up through the pillow, startling his lover as he replied, "I know, you huge git. I love you too. And I told you already, it's Oliver."

He laughed as Marcus tackled him to the bed once more.

* * *

My baby! Its all grown up! It only took FOREVER. Anyway, this is dedicated to all you faithful reviewers. I promised once I got thirty reviews, right? It just took me a while. I hope you all enjoyed it.


End file.
